


The Shotgun Proposal

by abigail89



Series: The Shotgun Proposal [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wants to make his and McCoy's relationship "legit" after attending Joanna's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shotgun Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Space_Married challenge on LJ.
> 
> Smoochy thanks to my beta magicofisis who endured the sickening sweetness.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of 'Star Trek.' I'm making no money, and mean no disrespect. I'm just having fun.

*~*

"So, what'd'ya think?" Jim asks, settling in next to McCoy on the bed.

"What do I think about what?" McCoy is on his back, mostly drunk from the champagne the servers at the reception kept handing him, and now he has a ferocious headache. Still, it was better than having to deal with Jocelyn sober, because that would've been even more. . . ferocious. He rubs the scowl lines between his eyes, hoping that Jim will lower his voice.

Jim rolls off the bed and finishes with a graceful little hop, making McCoy snort at his youthfulness and ability to function even after consuming a vast quantity of alcohol. He unbuttons the tunic of his dress uniform and it falls to the floor; the medals and award pins make a tiny tinkling noise. He's wearing a form-fitting undershirt. "You know, getting married and shit."

McCoy wants to think about fucking Jim into the mattress, but the champagne headache and other kinds of alcohol he'd consumed at the reception roil together to make his stomach lurch. So he closes his eyes to chase away, reluctantly, the image of a well and truly fucked Jim, and groans. "It's great for Joanna. She found a great guy, a smart guy, who seems to love her and--"

"Not that. I mean, yeah, _that_." Jim sits on the bed again, bouncing. "Joanna was so pretty, so lovely. You spawned a beautiful girl, Bones."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for the bulletin." McCoy is getting nauseous from even the slight movement created by Jim's energy. He thinks he may have to kill him.

"I mean, why don't we get married? You know, make it legit between us?" He pulls up one of McCoy's eyelids. "God, you have the most gorgeous eyes."

McCoy weakly bats away his hand. "Cut that out. Now why in the hell would we get married?"

"Why the hell not?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because we don't really _need_ to."

"Why. Not?"

McCoy heaves a sigh. He knows that tone of voice, the challenging one. The one that says, "I'm not going to leave this alone until we've discussed it thoroughly, given five good reasons for it, five good reasons against it, and include research notes and graphics".

"Look." McCoy's eyes are still closed, but he sits up cautiously to find a fixed horizon to help with the seasickness. "First off, stop bouncing. Christ, I'm gonna throw up on you if you don't fucking stop now."

"Wouldn't be the first time you've done that." McCoy thinks Jim is entirely too chipper to talk to at this stage of his inebriation.

"Yeah, well, let's make sure that doesn't happen again, shall we? It was embarrassing as hell." McCoy cradles his head in his hands. "What were we talking about again?"

"Getting married. Making us a bone fide couple."

"Again, why in the hell would we want to do that? People get married to have babies and shit. They get married when the girl's daddy comes after her fella with a shotgun for shacking up with her a bit too long."

"God, Bones! People do that?"

"They do where I come from. And yes, they still use old fashioned shotguns in Georgia. It hurts like a son of a bitch to get hit with lead shot; a father wants the wayward boy to know the full extent of his anger when making his daughter into the town slut."

"Well, I am glad you're out of that backwards place. Jo, too." Jim is mocking him, but what he doesn't know is that if Daniel Murray hadn't married Joanna after living with her for three years, McCoy knew where his granddaddy's shotgun was stashed at the family farm. He's as progressive as the next 23rd century father, but not that much, especially when it comes to his only child.

"Okay, so there's no need for anyone to defend my honor. No one to defend yours. We're both guys without angry fathers, or fathers at all." Jim stands and starts pacing. Not good. When Jim paces his mind goes into overdrive. "No kids, unless we want to adopt, which, I dunno. I don't feel any real need for since Jo has practically adopted me. I suppose we could wait for grandkids."

"You can stop right there." Bones gets up and runs to the bathroom.

"Was it something I said?" Jim calls after him. "Need some help?"

*~*

Morning comes too soon for Leonard McCoy. Jim, he notes as he rolls over in search of more sleep and a better position, has arisen already. He smiles. Getting up at 0600 to start his day as captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise is a habit to hard to break, even while on shore leave. Of course, he too starts his day at exactly the same time, but today he's decided to take a break. The hangover cure and anti-nausea hypo he gave himself before going to bed have alleviated the worst of the symptoms, but it doesn't help the fact that he's no longer a young man whose body can easily recover from the excesses of the night. As father of the bride he gives himself permission to sleep in.

It's mid-morning by the time McCoy is up, showered, shaved, and feeling more like himself. He's combing his hair in the bathroom mirror and examining his teeth when the door to the suite slams shut. "Bones!" he hears.

"In here."

Jim is sweaty and looking better than any man his age has a right to, all blue eyes and dark blond hair and muscular build. "Old man! You're finally up!" Jim slaps him on the shoulder as he passes by in the large bathroom. Bones hears the toilet lid hit the tank and the unmistakeable sound of Jim osmoregulating. "Should've come with us. The run along the shore was fantastic. Jo showed me some of the oldest houses in Savannah. Really fascinating."

"Joanna went for a run with you?"

"She did. We ran for about an hour, then had coffee and a cinnamon roll at this little place out by the river, and walked back."

"Where was Dan?" McCoy's doctor senses go on alert.

"Still in bed and hungover, like his new father-in-law. He's apparently as much a lightweight when it comes to champagne as you." Jim comes to stand beside him at the sink and washes his hands; he splashes water on his face and pulls on the skin on his neck. "Think I need a neck job? It's starting to look a little saggy."

"You look fine, Jim."

Jim turns and gives him a smile. "You always say that."

McCoy shrugs. "It's true. You have yet to lose those farm boy good looks." He gives Jim a quick kiss. "Bleh. Sweat."

Jim fusses with a rogue cowlick on the back of McCoy's head. "And you, old man, just seem to get more handsome every day."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Bullshit. I just get older and more gray."

"Yeah, but on you the gray looks fantastic. You've got that whole distinguished doctor, Starfleet officer thing going for you." Jim stares at him longingly. "Which is one reason why I want us to get married."

McCoy snorts. "You intentionally want to marry an old man? As Spock would say, that is highly illogical."

"Gotta protect what's mine. Half the men in the church were staring at you, and most of the women."

"Riiiight."

"They were! One-quarter of the guys were staring at Jo, and the other quarter didn't give a shit and were daydreaming about the football games they were missing. A few of the women were sizing up Joanna's gown and the other ninety-eight percent were sizing _you_ up as you walked the aisle. Chicks dig a great looking guy in Starfleet whites." Jim strips off the sweat-stained t-shirt and tosses it on the floor; running shorts follow. He stands, wearing only running shoes and socks now.

McCoy licks his lips, ducks his head, and silently thanks all the gods for bringing Jim Kirk into his life. Jim has transformed him from a bitter, aging divorce without a hope of a future in medicine into a respected physician and researcher and a happy, but still aging, man in love. Despite Jim's earlier reputation as something of a wanton womanizer, manwhore even, and having an appreciative eye for beautiful beings no matter what the species, in all the years they'd been together, McCoy has never doubted Jim's commitment to him, though there is no formal agreement between them. For his part, once McCoy had had a taste of Jim's passion, he has never looked twice at anyone. He was hooked from day one.

"Bones?" McCoy turns as Jim addresses him. "You okay?"

McCoy gives him a small smile. "Um...yeah. Just kind of wandered off for a moment." He feels the flush creep into his face.

"Aww, Bones. You still think I'm cute, don't you?" Jim sits on the side of the bathtub to remove his shoes and socks.

"Conceited asshole."

Jim flashes him a brilliant smile. "That's me! Hey, Jo wants us to meet for brunch downstairs in about fifteen. You up for some sustenance?"

"God, yes, I'm famished. All that reception food from last night left in a hurry."

"Give me five minutes to shower and make myself beautiful."

McCoy lingers long enough to admire Jim's tight ass as he leans over to turn on the shower. At forty-five Jim still has flat abs, all his hair and defined muscle tone. And at forty-five, Jim has also tempered some of the impetuousness, making him a shrewd diplomat, respected strategist, and famous starship captain. McCoy is more than proud of the man his Jim has become.

He leaves Jim in the steamy bathroom and walks over to the window of their hotel suite. The view of Savannah is breathtaking. Even though the city holds the unpleasant memories of his failed marriage and the death of his father, he is still enchanted by its old world charm and traditional architecture. It is alive in early October with colorful flowering plants, ancient trees and migrating birds of all kinds. For just a few seconds, he thinks he can never leave the variety of life on Earth for the dark, cold expanse of space again. But then, how can there be life, real life, if Jim isn't there?

_Maybe . . .maybe being married isn't such a bad idea._

Jim reappears, freshly scrubbed to a pink glow. McCoy turns and leans against the frame of the window; he can't help but grin.

"What?" Jim asks, his arms open and his nakedness fully exposed.

McCoy shakes his head. "Nothing. Get dressed, you exhibitionist.

"You love it and you know it, old man."

*~*

"Dad! Over here!"

Joanna rises to greet her father, and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Hello, darlin'. Your new husband still suffering?" McCoy asks.

Dan Murray looks as miserable as a whipped puppy. He's a handsome fellow with dark hair and blue eyes, a scary-smart astrophysicist doing a post-doc at Berkeley, whilst Joanna finishes her degree in xeno-microbiology; they're both awaiting their first Starfleet posting. He's holding his head in his hands. "I was almost feeling all right," he moans. "Then I smelled food."

"I can't stand to see you like this, son," McCoy says. He gently pulls on the man's collar and applies a hypospray. "It being the start of your honeymoon and all."

Dan lifts his head. "Damn, that's amazing. What is that?"

"Daddy's special hangover cure," Joanna says proudly.

"It's still no substitute for moderation, but it clears the head and soothes the stomach," McCoys says, pocketing the hypo. "Now, drink two liters of water over the next six hours. Go easy on the coffee. Eat protein, whole grains, and raw fruit. Don't drink any booze for the next few days, and you'll be as right as rain." He leans over and whispers, "Don't ruin the trip for my daughter."

"Water, protein, fiber. Got it, sir. Dad," Dan says with more energy. "Let's hit the buffet." He stands and leads Joanna by the hand to the buffet tables.

"Nicely done, Bones," Jim says. "A lesser man would let the young'un ponder his misdeeds."

"My daughter wants to have a good time on her honeymoon."

"You do know what they'll be doing." Jim's eyes are twinkling.

"Shut up, Jim."

"I'm just sayin'."

"She's well over the legal age. In fact when I was her age, _she_ was a toddler. Come on."

McCoy and Jim load up their plates at a gourmet Sunday brunch in Savannah: grits cooked to creamy perfection; eggs light and fluffy; biscuits so flaky and lofty they could float off the plate. "Take it easy on the bacon and sausage. It's the full pig," McCoy says, helping himself to one piece of bacon.

Jim adds two sausage patties and four crispy bacon slices to the top of the mound of food. "I went for a run this morning. I'm golden."

"You're forty-five.

"You just had to bring that up, didn't you, you grumpy bastard."

"I love you, therefore I bitch about your health."

They sit at the table and dig into their food. McCoy closes his eyes as the perfectly prepared food hits his tongue. It's been a long time since he's had real southern grits. He might have to think about a second helping when--

"Leonard H. McCoy, I have to have words with you."

McCoy opens his eyes and is startled to find the double barrel of a shotgun under his nose. "What the hell?" he says.

Joanna shifts the gun to a more comfortable grip. "Daddy, I love you, but really, it's time we talked about you and Uncle Jim."

"Uncle--"

"Daddy, isn't it time you made an honest man of Jim Kirk?" She's trying to maintain a stern demeanor, but the McCoy smirk creeps across her pretty face.

McCoy looks from his daughter to her husband, who's trying look innocent and above it all, to Jim, who is also wide-eyed. "Jo?" Jim asks.

"Sir--I mean, Dad," Dan says, "remember when we talked last year? You said that marriage is the best kind of commitment a couple can make. For some, commitment is a restriction, something that takes away from your life. But for couple that's really meant to be together, commitment is freedom. Your relationship becomes a whole new thing. It says, 'This person is the one I'm choosing to spend the rest of my life with. He's special and he's mine.'"

"It also says that for the rest of your life you have someone to have dinner with," Jo says, "to hold you when everything around you is going to hell, knows when to back off and give you space. . ."

". . .And knows when to get in your face and tells you you're being a jerk," Dan continues, giving Joanna a significant look. "Commitment means you're legally required to be there in the morning, and yet, it's the best part of the day."

"Dad," Joanna says, lowering the gun, "it's time you two got married. It's been what? Twenty years? The captain of the flagship of the fleet can't be seen as a wanton man. There are standards and appearances to be maintained, you know."

McCoy's jaw is still located somewhere around his chest. He looks at Jim, and his eyes narrow as his mouth snaps shut. "You put her up to this."

Jim's puts up his hands. "I did not!" Then, he swallows and grins nervously. "I just mentioned our discussion from last night during our run this morning."

"Jim, I was drunk off my ass last night. That was not a _discussion_; no higher thought processes took place." McCoy is exasperated and, truth be told, somewhat amused.

"Bones, all I'm saying is that--"

McCoy stands up, throwing his napkin on the table. "Fine. We'll do it your way." He holds out his hand. "James T. Kirk, I love you above all others. Have, for a really long time. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?" He clears his throat. "And no, I won't get down on one knee because I'll probably never be able to get up again, and no, I don't have a ring, so this is just gonna have to suffice."

The dining room has gone completely silent over the past several moments. Jim looks around, then stands, smoothing the front of his shirt. He takes Bones's hand. "Leonard McCoy, I would be honored to accept your proposal."

McCoy, for all the irritation and embarrassment he's feeling, is suddenly moved by the enormity of the moment and the sincerity radiating from Jim's smiling face. "Really?" he asks softly.

"God, you--come here, old man." Jim pulls him into a tight hug. "Really. I love you, Bones, with all my heart," he whispers, and kisses McCoy's ear.

"Love you too, Jim," McCoy says into Jim's neck.

Wild applause breaks out in the dining room. Everyone is on their feet.

"Come here, you little sneak," McCoy says, pulling Jo into his arms. "And, I'll take that." He takes the weapon from his daughter's hands. "Something you want to tell me?" he asks, smiling broadly.

"Oh, it belongs to the head of hotel security." She points to a stern looking professional who is making his way towards them.

"I'll take that," the man says, "and congratulations." He takes the gun with a shake of his head.

McCoy hugs his daughter again. "Yeah, thanks. And you," he says to Dan, hugging him across the shoulders. "You let your wife handle a gun in public?"

"Hey, better her than me," Dan says, slapping his father-in-law on the back. "If I pulled a gun on you, I'd probably not be alive right now."

"Oh, I don't know," McCoy says, genially, sitting in his chair again. "I would've let you live for a few minutes."

Dan gives him a grin, but then looks at Jo with wide eyes that ask, "He's fucking with me, right?"

Jo comes around and gives Jim a kiss and a long hug. "That was more than perfect, Uncle Jim. Love you," she whispers.

"Thanks you," he says back. He can't help it but his eyes are misty, just a tad. He releases her and sits again, rubbing his hands together, saying, "Okay! Wow, I'm engaged to be married to the most wonderful man in galaxy--"

"Come off it, Jim," McCoy warns.

"I think this calls for champagne! Waiter, a bottle of--"

McCoy and his new son-in-law exchange looks of "oh god no". "If I kiss you right here, right now," McCoy says, "can we skip the champagne?"

Jim raises his arms in victory. "Forget the champagne, then," Jim says with glee. And McCoy leans over and kisses his fiance to the delight of the newlyweds and all around them.

*~*


	2. The Honeymoon Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise crew start to get the feeling something is different about Kirk and McCoy. It takes them several days to figure it out: they got married on shore leave, and didn't tell anyone!

*~*

Captain Montgomery Scott grumbles as he takes his seat at the console of the Transporter. "Any lieutenant-grade engineer can run the blessed thing. Why the bloody hell does McCoy want me to do this?" He runs his hand over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It's 0500, two hours before his shift begins.

He doesn't expect an answer as there is no one else in the room with him, so he answers himself. "Aye, and when does the grumpy bastard ask for anything in the way of a favor of ye? 'Tis a small thing to do for a man who treats your crew for all their wee bumps and bruises." He shakes his head, grinning. "One day, Starfleet may make Doctor McCoy like being in space."

The familiar call beep sounds. "Scotty! We're ready to beam up," comes the voice of his captain over the comm.

"Aye, Cap'n," Scotty answers. "Stand clear."

Scotty deftly fires up the matter transporter and waits. Presently, two figures and several smaller shapes materialize on the pads. For the briefest of moments, he thinks he sees the two tall figures holding hands.

But it can't be. It's Doctor McCoy and the captain. Scotty knows the two are in some sort of relationship...friendship...something. But he's never ever seen any evidence of it, even though Nyota claims to the otherwise.

"Doctor, Cap'n. Welcome home," Scotty calls as he checks the read-outs and technical specifications. Everything is in perfect order.

"Good morning, Scotty."

Scotty does a double-take. It's the doctor who has greeted him by his informal name and in such a cheery manner, too. He likes the doctor, likes his gruff yet compassionate way of dealing with the mundane and the serious—you know the man cares even when he's calling you an idiot for getting into a bar fight on Riegel 3. And there's no doctor in the fleet you'd rather have taking care of your wounded after a tangle with the Klingons than Leonard McCoy. Scotty knows. But for all the years they've served together, the doctor rarely calls him 'Scotty'. Maybe after a couple of drinks—the man knows his Kentucky bourbon. But on the job or relaxing in the observation deck after a staff meeting, McCoy usually calls him "Mr. Scott."

The two men are smiling as the gather up personal gear—a duffle cube each and one box. McCoy looks relaxed, happy even. Which again, is odd for McCoy, Scotty thinks. Usually McCoy is a bundle of scowling nerves when he comes through the transporter. "Did you enjoy the wedding, Doctor?"

McCoy looks up, the smile dying on his face. "The wedding?"

"Yeah. Didn't your daughter get marrit?"

"Oh." The smile comes back. "Yeah, she did. It was very nice. Joanna and Dan make a sweet couple, and they're very happy."

"Ah, young love," Scotty says. "Good time, Cap'n?"

"Absolutely. How's our favorite girl, Scotty?"

"She's sleek and fine, ready to return to space at your command, sir."

"That's excellent. I hope you were able to get some time away."

"You think I would leave my girl alone wi' the space monkeys? Och, Cap'n. You should know me bett'r by now," Scotty replies, his Scots bristling. "Ye never leave a lady all on her own wi' that lot."

"You're a fine man, Mr. Scott," McCoy says, smiling. "And knowing your devotion to ship and crew, Jim and I made a stop at the best liquor store in Savannah." He holds out an amber-colored bottle to him."

"God bless ye, Doc, Cap'n," Scotty says, his eyes wide with wonder and appreciation. "It's been an age since I've had me Macallan. Set you back a few credits, now Cap'n?"

"Only the best for the best," Jim says, slapping him on the back. "Don't drink it all in one go."

"Or alone," McCoy says, smiling.

"Next poker game, I'll bring the refreshments," Scotty says.

Scotty is still admiring the bottle in his hands, but through the clear amber liquid he sees the two men kiss each other quickly as the door slides open to spill them into the corridor. He nearly drops the bottle.

"I think I owe Miss Uhura a nip out o' this bottle, too," he muses quietly.

*~*

"I like this," Jim breathes in between kisses, "interest," he groans as Bones sucks on his ear lobe, "in public," he gasps as Bones applies tiny nips down the cord of his neck, "displays of affection."

"We're not," Bones says as he palms Jim's erection, grinding his own into Jim's thigh, "public."

Jim looks around the empty cargo bay. "Looks public to me."

"Do you see anyone?"

"No."

Bones drops to his knees—slowly, and with a groan—and unzips Jim's pants. He extracts his purple-headed, weeping cock. "That shuttle craft isn't gonna tell anyone I'm sucking you off." He swallows it whole.

Jim's head slumps back into the hard wall, and he moans. His hands rub McCoy's head, and he's trying his damnedest not to move his hips too much. He knows McCoy hates that. "Fuck, Bones. . . ."

Sulu watches them from the pilot's chair of the shuttle. It's probably the most wrong thing he's ever done, watching. But he can't tear his eyes away from the two men who are closer than brothers to him. He's served with both on this ship, fought beside them, strategized with them, mourned dead colleagues with them, celebrated marriages, friendships, victories, and promotions with them. He's known they were more than just best friends for years, but watching the depth of that romance, their long-time love—McCoy knows exactly what to do with his tongue on Jim's cock, knows how to nibble the slit, knows how to rub and squeeze his balls to make Jim writhe with utter need—on display makes him nearly weep with the beauty of it. And when Jim comes, McCoy knows how to ride it out, Sulu's mouth goes dry.

And he realizes his hand has been stroking his own cock.

Jim slumps to the floor of the cargo bay, spent and panting. McCoy gathers him in his arms and holds him closely. They remain there for several minutes. Then, McCoy gives the captain a kiss to the temple, helps him up, rakes his fingers through his hair, and gives him the once-over. They leave.

Sulu vows to never tell a living soul what he's witnessed.

 

*~*

She's watching out for any sign of her boss in between boxes of gauze and steri-strips and hypospray ampules. Actually, it's not unusual at all for Christine Chapel to gaze at the tall, handsome chief medical officer. Leonard H. McCoy is the best of the best. She's worked with him, off and on, for more than twenty years, even a few years before their assignment to the Enterprise at the Academy infirmary and at San Francisco General. She knows him to be demanding, requiring everyone under his supervision to perform at the peak of their game at every moment. As much as he demands of his staff, McCoy demands even more of himself. He puts in longer hours, does more research, and treats more patients than anyone on staff. He takes each death as a personal failure; he pushes himself hard, too hard. Of all the doctors she's worked with in her long career, Leonard McCoy, the most exacting of them all, has always treated her and her nurses with the most respect and professionalism.

And, truth be told, she has just a bit of a crush on him. He is the dishiest of all the men on the Enterprise, save for maybe James T. Kirk. And the hell of it is that neither one has eyes for any one else except the other.

Not that they show anything of their relationship to the crew. She doesn't know how they do it, but she's rarely seen anything beyond a coy smile or a touch to the arm that lingers just a little too long. She knows when they've argued—god, McCoy is really grouchy during those episodes. But they never last for long and, before you know it, he's back to his usual professional, efficient, funny, cranky self. And all is right with the universe.

But ever since his daughter's wedding back on Earth, three days hence, McCoy has been downright. . .well, happy. Not in a "Ha-Ha" sort of way. More at peace, maybe. Smiling as he works. Just--happy.

Which is why she is watching her boss's office surreptitiously through boxes of supplies. Jim Kirk has been in there with him. For a long time. The captain often goes into her boss's office, especially after away-missions and encounters with combatants that have resulted in injuries. But this morning there are no injured crew members, no outbreaks of any diseases, no anything. Something is different, about him--about them.

The door opens, and the efficient Nurse Chapel squeezes herself into the corner behind the supply shelves. Jim Kirk emerges, grinning broadly; his hair is slightly mussed, which means something happened because Jim Kirk's hair is rarely out of place. McCoy is relaxed; he slouches casually in the doorway. "See you later?" he asks.

"Of course," the Captain says in return. He looks around, and then leans in and gives McCoy a kiss.

Chapel watches, her mouth slightly open. The captain's lips linger on McCoy's, the kiss hovering on the brink becoming dangerously passionate and dirty. But it never does. McCoy's elegant fingers card through the captain's hair, slowly, lightly, then curl around the back of his head. The captain slides his hand up McCoy's waist, fingers creeping under the uniform shirt, and find bare skin, disappearing around the back. It's sweet and hot and ends much too soon in her opinion, though McCoy finishes with a gentle touch to the Jim's face with the back of his hand. The captain leaves, and McCoy returns to his office.

Chapel slides to the floor, fanning herself. And it's there that her boss finds her a few minutes later.

"Christine? Are you all right?" McCoy's concerned face fills her eyes.

*~*

"I think we're scaring the crew," McCoy says, pulling his shirt off. It's not yet dinner time, but he wants to shower after dealing with several cases of Avarian flu and smashed finger that afternoon.

"What do you mean? Because you've been smiling so much?" Jim tosses his trousers into the laundry chute then steps out of his boxers, scratching behind his scrotum. "Ahh, that feels good."

McCoy rolls his eyes at his partner's antics. "That smiling crap was your idea for a wedding present and I've been trying to fulfill your wish, so shut up." He tosses a sock at Jim. "No, we've not been our usual careful selves. I think Christine saw you kiss me this morning in sickbay." McCoy goes into the bathroom and steps into the shower.

Jim follows him, but pauses at the mirror to examine his teeth. "So? It's not like people don't know about us."

"But that's the point. We've been so secretive about us for twenty-odd years that not everyone may know." He turns on the real water shower and sighs. "Get in here, Jim."

"Bones, I'm pretty sure everyone," he says, closing the shower door behind him, "well, those who've been on this ship with us for years, knows." He quickly wets down and lathers up, then rubs his hands on McCoy's chest. "Speaking of scaring people, it's been three days. You still scared we've fucked up utterly?"

"Yes. No." McCoy heaves a sigh and wraps his arms around Jim and allows his head to fall onto his shoulder. "I don't know. Maybe not," he mumbles. "All I know is this time it's with you, and I've learned a few things about being in a relationship with you over the years."

"Such as?"

"You're willing to work on this thing with me. It takes a helluva lot of patience to put up with my shit, and you've developed it in spades. You don't run away after an argument. You're always honest with me." He kisses Jim deeply, his tongue rolling lazily along every ridge and crevice in his mouth; Jim tastes of chocolate and freedom, bitter galley coffee and stars, and something undefinable yet ineffably Jim. Reluctantly, he ends it with tiny kisses to the corners of Jim's mouth. He rests his forehead to Jim's. "Most importantly, you're still here."

"That's all you need to know. I'll always be right here." Jim takes Bones's hardened cock in hand. "I'll never leave you, Bones. Ever."

"I know," McCoy gasps quietly as Jim's hand speeds up. "I know you won't."

"Good. Believe it." And to Jim's delight, Bones comes with six seconds to spare before their water allotment shuts off.

*~*

It's not unusual for First Officer Spock to patrol the ship during the darkest hours of Delta shift. The ship is running smoothly at full impulse; engineering is using the down-time from warp speed to do routine maintenance on the left nacelle. Astrophysics has taken over the long-range and short-range sensors, the Van Dyke telescope and most of the computer core to locate, map, and track black hole activity. Because of Astrophysics's use of the sensors Spock has given half of the communications staff the night off; several are using the time to listen to language files, and the rest are doing some long-neglected reading. If he were human, Spock would be impressed with their diligence and dedication. But since he is not, he will merely note that the communications staff have used the time off expand their skills and knowledge.

He checks on several of the internal sensors, runs his finger along the panels to check for dust, and drops by the dining hall to assess the progress of breakfast preparation. The first round of service should commence within the hour. Spock believes he is rather hungry as his stomach has been gurgling in a most un-Vulcan-like fashion for the past hour.

As he walks the long corridor of officers' quarters, his attention is drawn to the faint swoosh of a door opening. It's the captain and the doctor leaving Jim's quarters. Dressed in shorts and t-shirts and carrying towels, they are obviously heading for the gym for their morning workouts. Nothing unusual about that. Over the years, Spock has observed the comings and goings of the two from each other's quarters during the very early morning hours, and some late hours, and every time in between. They have been extremely discreet about their relationship, though they had told Spock years ago about it. Nyota thinks they are a perfectly balanced couple. Spock himself has no personal view on the matter, other than it appears both men benefit in positive ways from the other's companionship, much like he and his chosen mate.

But lately he's heard about a shift in the doctor and captain's relationship. Nothing concrete, just whisperings about assignations in darkened doorways and niches, brief hand-holding in the dining hall buffet line, and long, wordless looks between them. The most fascinating has been a persistent rumor that the doctor has been smiling more. Spock, if he were human, would find that not only fascinating, but vaguely disturbing. If there is one constant in Spock's universe it is that Leonard McCoy smiles about as rarely as he.

This morning, though, neither man has tried to hide the fact that they have spent the night together. Jim's arm is looped about Leonard's neck and Leonard's is about his waist. But most interesting is the fact that each is wearing a silver bracelet. Spock's superior eyesight allows him to observe this even being some fair distance behind them. He knows neither man is fussy about personal adornment, so the addition of matching shiny accessories on their left wrists is something to note. If Spock were human, he might ask his wife to investigate. But since he is not, he will allow her to discover this new bit of information. That way, she can tell him about it, he will praise her superior skills of observation, and thus be treated to an extra sexual encounter with her extremely talented tongue.

And for that, Spock does not need to be human to appreciate the dynamic of his marriage.

*~*

"So, day four of McCoy-Kirk wedded bliss comes to an end. You regret it yet?" McCoy asks. It's late in the evening, too late to start anything significant and try to get up at 0600. Still, he can't help trailing one finger along Jim's bare abdomen. It stops at his belly button, circles it, and dips in, making Jim squirm a little.

"Nope. Not one second," Jim replies. McCoy's questing finger follows the narrow stripe of hair from navel to cock; it stirs from its quiescent state as his finger rubs along the smooth skin.

"That'll change." The tip of his finger touches the tip of his wet cock, and smears the pre-come around the sensitive head. Jim sighs.

The silence hangs between them. "What do you mean?" Jim says finally.

"This will wear off, this giddy—I don't know—this wicked high we seem to be on," McCoy says.

Jim turns his head to regard McCoy. "You know, I thought I'd be the one with the doubts," he says. "My family life sucked; I'm always restless. I've never been able to commit to--"

"How can you say that?" McCoy says, interrupting. "You've been committed to this ship, this crew for nearly twenty years. You've been committed to me for longer than that. No, if anyone was going to have doubts about marriage, it's me because my track record sucks." He takes Jim's now-stiff member into his hand.

McCoy looks into Jim's blue eyes for several seconds, then both chuckle.

"Listen to us," Jim says. "Competing for the pathetic bastard award." McCoy's grip tightens around his cock, and as it does, Jim feels all rational thought rushing away. "Why don't we call it a draw?"

McCoy snorts a little. "Like I said, I didn't think we needed to be married to be happy," McCoy says, shifting to align his own hardened cock to Jim's. He takes both in his hand. "Still don't." His palm drifts over both slick heads, then down the two shafts; he and Jim both shudder. "But I'm awfully glad we did."

"Me too," Jim whispers, and closes off any further comment with an intense kiss.

*~*

On the fifth day after Enterprise leaves for the mission to Gaius II, Nyota Uhura opens her personnel director's message account. As Executive Officer, Spock is technically in charge of personnel and ship operations. After several years, he had finally admitted being uncomfortable with handling the personal issues of the crew, and so asked and received permission from Starfleet to shift that portion of his duties to another officer. Yet, he didn't want the responsibility to go too far from his attentions; the most logical choice, of course, was to assign his wife the responsibility. Had he known that she would be so appreciative of his trust in her to do such an important job that it resulted in five straight nights of mind-blowing sex, he would have done it much sooner.

Fifteen years into the job, Commander Uhura has an intimate and wide knowledge of the goings-on of the crew of the Enterprise. Sure, crew members transfer on and off in three- and five-year cycles, but the most important people, the people with whom she's developed deep friendships and attachments remain mission after mission, and she feels she knows them very, very well. As personnel director she knows that Sulu is due to be promoted to captain soon, and Chapel could have her pick of any assignment she desired; Starfleet Medical approaches Dr. McCoy every single year to become Surgeon General, and Command wants Jim to take an admiralship in the worst kind of way. The Vulcan High Council and the Federation want Spock to work for them, and she's been asked many times to teach at the Academy. But none of them want to leave. Not yet.

She checks through the list of messages from Starfleet Personnel: _Routine memo. Routine. Routine. Medical leave for Ensign Ohaackuea—filed already. Routine memo. Change of Status for_\-- She sits back in her chair. "What is this?" she says out loud.

Nyota calls up the message and reads it. "Oh, my God," she breathes. She checks the message list again. There it is: _Change of Status for McCoy, Commander Leonard Horatio, M.D., F.A.C.S., F.F.C.S._ She scrolls down further: _Request for Change of Quarters for McCoy, Commander Leonard Horatio. Change of Family Contact for Kirk, Captain James Tiberius._

She sits back in her chair, stunned. Then, her mind goes into overdrive. In all the years she's been personnel director she's never violated her oath of confidentiality. All the crew's personal information, all their closest secrets, their family tragedies, their professional triumphs and woes, they are all safe with her.

But right now, with the knowledge she's gained from reading the morning mail, she's thinking fifteen years of keeping secrets has earned her the right to violate that oath just this once.

*~*

Spock alerts the senior officers of an impromptu meeting. Within minutes, they all appear in the conference room, and take their assigned seats.

"Where is the keptain?" Chekov asks. "We cannot meet without him."

"We can, and we shall," Spock informs him, "as he is the reason for this meeting."

"What do you mean, Commander?" Sulu asks.

"Have you noticed something different about the captain and Dr. McCoy?" Spock asks. "Besides the fact that the doctor isn't his usual acerbic self?"

They all look at each other; several duck their heads and blush. It takes a few minutes for anyone to say anything.

"I . . .uh," Scotty starts, "I think I saw them, y'know, kissing a few times, and in odd places. Now, I know they've been in a relationship for years, but I have never seen any, you know, romantic stuff."

Chekov covers his eyes with his hands. "They were being wery passionate with each other the other day on the obserwation deck. I tried to turn around, but I could not help it!"

Sulu laughs. "Be grateful that's the only thing you saw."

"What have you observed, Commander?" Spock asks him.

Sulu shakes his head, instantly sorry he opened his mouth. Finally, he says solemnly, "I will never tell. I have too much respect for the doctor and the captain to violate their privacy." His cheeks are flaming.

"Fascinating," Spock says. "I have known them to be in a relationship of a very personal nature for many years. But it is only in the last few days that I, too, have seen evidence of the captain and doctor's. . .shall we say, passion for each other since they returned from shore leave."

"Have you seen the bracelets?" Christine Chapel says quietly.

"What bracelets?" Scotty asks.

"They're wearing matching silver bracelets," she says. "Dr. McCoy wears his pushed up under his uniform sleeve, but I've seen it when he washes his hands. And the captain is wearing one that looks the same. Same arm, too.

Spock's comm chirps. "Uhura to Spock."

He opens the communicator device. "Spock here."

"Where is everybody? I need to talk to you and the senior officers."

Everyone around the table looks at one another and grins. They actually may have a leg up on Commander Uhura, who is always in the know about everything and everyone on the ship. "I have gathered them all together in the conference room. Please join us, Commander."

"And you didn't wait for me?" comes the irritated reply.

"You should endeavor to be more punctual, Commander. Spock out." He looks around the table at his silent friends and colleagues of nearly twenty years. "Is there a problem?"

They all answer at once. "Oh, no, sir. None whatsoever. No. No."

They remain quiet until Commander Uhura bursts into the conference room, carrying a PADD. She stops and takes in the meeting. Her eyes are wide. "You are not going to believe this."

"Is this about the captain and the doctor, Commander?" Spock asks in that maddeningly calm tone.

"You—-how?--how did you know?" she says, incredulous.

"Why? What have you seen?" Chapel asks.

Uhura snorts, and says something in Swahili under her breath. "What haven't I seen. I've known they've been in love with each other probably longer than they've known they've been in love with each other, but have I ever seen them kiss, hold hands, snuggle during movie night? No. Never. Nothing. Nada. Until two days ago. I caught them necking like horny teenagers in the main computer core room. I mean, I know no one hardly ever goes down there, and God knows, I go there even less. But the one time I have to go reset the main communications server, I find them."

"Was it hot?" Chapel asks.

"Lieutenant!" Sulu says, shocked. "How can you--"

"Incredibly hot," Uhura says. "Amazingly hot."

"Commander--" Spock cuts in, his voice raised slightly.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "You all have seen them, too. Right?" Everyone nods. "Well, I know why." She takes a breath, as she tries to remain in control of herself. "Those two—-those, those rat finks!"

Spock's eyebrow rises. "Commander, please explain yourself."

Uhura gives him a withering look. "Well, what else would you call two of your long-time, closest friends who don't tell their long-time, closest friends about one of the most important changes in their lives?" Uhura says, her eyes flashing. "I cannot believe they didn't include us!"

"Commander," Spock begins, "Nyota, perhaps you should. . . ."

"Jim and Len got married," she blurts out. "Last weekend. In Georgia."

They sit in stunned silence, looking around the table at each other. Then, they all start talking at once.

"Well, that explains things," Sulu says.

"Yes!" Chapel exclaims.

"His daughter got marriet," Scotty says above the din.

"She did," Nyota says. "And I was getting ready to send Len a really nasty message when I checked my email again and found this. It's from Joanna."

She places a PADD on the table with a large color image on it. It is of McCoy and Kirk, dressed casually in white shirts with rolled up sleeves, and smiling happily, their hands clasped, silver cuff bracelets shining on their wrists. They are flanked by Joanna and Dan, a woman with a liturgical stole around her neck, and two elderly women, one of whom looks exactly like Jim Kirk. They are all standing on a sandy beach with a wide expanse of water behind them. Joanna is holding a shotgun in one hand.

She picks up the PADD again: "Dear Commander Uhura," she begins, _I know they won't tell you this, because they told me they weren't going to say anything if they didn't have to, but they aren't getting off that easy._

Dad and Uncle Jim finally got married.

I am the direct cause of it. Uncle Jim told me the day after my wedding that he had talked to Dad about possibly making their own relationship legit. They aren't getting any younger, and he wanted to make sure Dad wouldn't do something stupid like break it off with him just because he's turning 50 soon. You know how sensitive he is about his age. So I forced Dad to propose to him, Georgia style. . . .

"Ah. That explains the shotgun," Sulu says.

"What?" Chekov says, confused.

"Shh, I'll explain later."

_Dan and I were getting ready to take off on our honeymoon when Uncle Jim asked us to stay another day. He wanted to marry Dad right then and there so that he wouldn't have time to change his mind or keep putting it off. So we called the minister who married us, and while they met with her, Dan and I bought the bracelets because Jim didn't want to wear a ring, and we called Jim's mom, who caught the next shuttle out of D.C. The other woman in the image is Dad's grandma, his mother's mother. She's been after Dad to marry Jim for ages; she's always liked him a lot more than my mom. What can I say? I absolutely agree with her._

I apologize for not contacting all y'all about their wedding. It happened on Monday, early in the morning because Dan and I had to catch the shuttle to Italy. Dad and Jim didn't care about taking a honeymoon, said they'd go somewhere the next time the Enterprise stopped at a nice planet.

Commander, could you do me a favor? Will you please throw them a party? It would make Uncle Jim so happy to celebrate his 'first and only marriage' (his words) with everyone who means so much to the both of them. And make them take a honeymoon!

"They've been using the ship for their honeymoon," Chapel says, laughing.

"Again, I apologize to everyone. All the best, Joanna McCoy," Uhura finishes. She wipes away the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. "I was going to kill them both after I read their 'Change of Status' forms, but Joanna's message saved their sorry asses."

Everyone sits in silence, adjusting to the dramatic shift in their lives. Then Scotty breaks into their thoughts. "We're gonna have to put in at Starbase 24 for some booze."

*~*

It's the end of a long day for Jim. He's had to deal with one diplomatic crisis and two cranky admirals, fend of yet another job offer from the Federation, and handle three crew reassignments. Oh, and a very brief sub-space anomaly caused him to slosh coffee down the front of his shirt, which he never found time to change.

He enters his quarters—-their _official_ quarters—-to find a cart of covered dishes and a bottle of champagne. The small dining table is elegantly set with the fine china and crystal the kitchen trots out for diplomatic events. Two candles and a vase of white roses complete it.

"I think our secret is out," McCoy says.

Jim turns to find him sitting on the sofa, reading and sipping a glass of bourbon. He's already changed out of regulation into a white tunic and his favorite black lounging pants. "I guess the paperwork has caught up with us," Jim says.

McCoy quietly harrumphs. "You think? This smacks of Uhura and Christine."

"Don't forget Sulu and the botanical staff. I thought roses were too mundane for their precious experimental space." Jim walks over and kisses him, then goes into their bedroom, stripping off his uniform as he goes. "I'm gonna shower. I stink of coffee."

While Jim showers, McCoy takes a look at the cart of food their friends have obviously taken great care to prepare and surprise them with. He lifts the largest lid and under it finds a round cake; it has white icing and is not overly decorated. On it is written: "We forgive you for not inviting us to the wedding."

He throws back his head and laughs.

Later, after they have eaten a wonderful, candle-lit meal and had a brief, emotion-filled gathering with their closest friends where they shared the champagne and cake, they now lay in bed. McCoy is looking at the framed image. "I can't believe Joanna ratted us out."

"I can," Jim says, taking the frame from him. "I'm glad she did it." He traces their smiling faces with the tip of his finger. "And I now kinda feel bad we didn't have the wedding here on the ship with our friends."

"You just had to do right then, didn't you?" McCoy teases him, but then grows serious. "I wouldn't have changed my mind," he says softly. "We could've waited to do it here, or anywhere you wanted."

"Well, I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to worm your way out of it," Jim says. He puts the image on the table beside the bed. "Besides, we had Joanna and Dan, my mom, and your grandma there. They're the most important ones, and they couldn't have been with us if we'd waited."

"True. I am glad Joanna was there."

Jim rolls on top of him, causing McCoy to exhale sharply. "Dammit, Jim, you need to warn me when you do that," he says without heat. "I'm getting too old to for this physical shit."

"You are a curmudgeon," Jim says, kissing his cheek and laughing.

"You've only just now figured that out?"

"But I love this curmudgeon. And you're not old." Jim rubs his nose against McCoy's chin. "Bones, you okay with the party? This big splashy thing they want to give us?" He kisses the tip of it, then licks it.

McCoy sighs as he wraps his arms around his husband. He rolls Jim off his chest and onto his side. "I don't have any choice in the matter, do I?"

"Of course you do. If you don't want to, we won't. End of story."

McCoy captures Jim's lips in a long, lingering kiss. "It's fine."

"Really?"

"It'll get me out of the doghouse with Chapel and Uhura." He kisses Jim again, this time with more tongue, but Jim is persistent.

"I want you to do it because you want to, not because it'll please me or get you out of --"

"I said I'll do. Now shut. The hell. Up."

Jim grins. "I love it when you get pushy."

McCoy reaches over him to the table, sliding the drawer out and retrieving the lube. "I'm going to get a lot more pushy if you don't stop talking."

"Aww, c'mon, Bones. You like me being mouthy during sex."

"Then put it to good use."

Jim pulls McCoy's head down to his, their lips meeting perfectly. McCoy's mouth yields to Jim's tongue; it slips in and rolls around McCoy's with ease. As it does, Jim's hand winds its way down his back, leaving a warm trail of love, comfort and promise. McCoy sighs. This is everything he's every wanted, everything he's every needed. Jim is everything.

"You ready?" he whispers.

"Always."

He pops the lid of the lube and generously coats his hand. Jim lifts his leg, allowing him to easily find his entrance. As one finger circles it, Jim presses another kiss to McCoy's lips, then his cheek, down the column of his neck. He sucks gently on the pulse point, a place he knows will drive him absolutely wild.

He arches his neck. "Jimmm..."

McCoy slowly works one finger into Jim's body, the muscle pulling it in; he rims it around, slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort in his husband's face. Jim smiles at him. "Another," he says. McCoy tugs gently and adds a second finger. Jim's eyes roll up into his head as a blissful smile spreads across his face. This is what McCoy's has been waiting for—Jim giving up all rational thought, all control. As he works the muscle loose, he then adds a third finger, making Jim hiss with pleasure. "Bones, c'mon. . .," he whines just a little.

"Shhshh," McCoy shushes. "Wait for it."

"Don't wanna wait. . ."

"Yes, you do." Jim is always impatient, but McCoy never gives in.

Jim pulls him in for another kiss, and as he does, McCoy finds and strokes his prostate, making Jim gasp and squirm. "Boonesss...." McCoy pulls away to watch Jim's expressions as he continues to stimulate him. Jim opens his eyes wide, his mouth forms an 'O'. McCoy's cock grows harder, if that's possible, from watching Jim like this, all nerves and need and begging. "God, you're going to kill me," Jim chokes out.

"You're not going to die, but if you do, I know how to revive you," Bones says quietly. "But I think I've teased you enough."

"Damn straight you have," Jim says, panting.

McCoy uses his other hand to squirt lube onto his cock. Quickly, he slicks it, and then very slowly pulls his fingers out of Jim's body; he watches as Jim's face relaxes. "Hurry, Bones," Jim says.

"I'm there; god, you're impetuous," McCoy says. He lines up the tip and, rising on his knees, he slowly pushes in.

Jim squares his hips and lifts his legs to McCoy's shoulders. "Do it now," he says. "Now."

Without a word, McCoy quickly slides all the way in, seated fully into him. The tightness and the look of total abandon on Jim's face excites him further. He starts moving his hips in short thrusts and then stops, adds some more lube, and then starts again. "All right?" he asks.

"Bones, come on," Jim insists.

The stroking becomes longer, faster, harder. McCoy places his hands on Jim's hips to steady himself. The heat, the tightness, the sounds Jim is making all serve to push McCoy to the edge. He glances up for a moment and, through the small window above their bed, the stars rush by. He tightens his grip on Jim, as if to ground himself to something solid while they are hurtling through the vast expanse of nothingness. He shifts his gaze to the man beneath him, the beautiful being who has consented to live with him forever. For a brief moment he cannot believe Jim Kirk is his alone, and yet that is how it has been for most of his remembered life. Intense, unconditional love fills him; it threatens to overwhelm him utterly. Until Jim cries out, "Bones!"

And Jim is coming. His eyes, flush with ecstasy and love, lock with his; the blue irises have gone black in the dim starlight. McCoy cannot contain his passion and in that instant, his orgasm washes through him in shimmering waves of pleasure.

They cannot speak for several minutes, their hearts beating wildly. Finally, McCoy lets go of Jim's hips, rubbing them as he releases reddened skin; he rubs the spots to disperse the pooled blood, hoping it won't bruise later. Jim's legs slips from his shoulders, and then McCoy pulls back and rolls to his side, still catching his breath. "That was awesome," Jim whispers.

In another minute, Jim breathes deeply, his body slack. McCoy quietly extricates himself in search of a warm washcloth. As he cleans his belly, Jim mumbles, though McCoy can't make out anything he's saying. He drops the towel and wash cloth on the floor beside the bed, and covers them both up again.

Jim immediately curls into him, taking him in his arms. "Love you. So much, Bones. So much," Jim says, kissing McCoy's neck.

McCoy shifts to his side so that they lay together like fitted spoons. He takes Jim's hand in his and tucks it to his breast. "Love you, too," he breathes.

And he thinks, really, as sleep overtakes him, marriage to Jim is perhaps the best thing that's ever happened to him.

*~*


End file.
